Family Matters features conversations with artists and their relatives about the bonds that tie them together.

The National are in the middle of an intimate recent show at Manhattan’s Bowery Ballroom when a small fight breaks out on stage. Eying the night’s setlist, frontman Matt Berninger notices a typo. “It’s ‘Turtleneck,’ not ‘Turtlenecks,’” he sighs into the mic, calling out the name of a track from the group’s new album, Sleep Well Beast. “These things matter.”

The culprit, he announces, is guitarist, keyboardist, and setlist scribe Aaron Dessner. “Careful,” Dessner responds, “you’re starting to sound like an angry old white man.” There is a moment of tension, as the band members’ eyes dart around, and the crowd laughs nervously. Then Berninger brushes it off with a joke, everyone cheers, and the quintet break into the gnarliest track they’ve written in ages.

“Famously, Matt and Aaron always fight, but there’s a lot more to it than that,” Aaron’s twin brother Bryce tells me shortly before the show. “To be clear,” Aaron adds, “Matt gets angry at everyone—I just seem to be the only one who talks back.”

It’s not hard to see why Berninger feels the need to defend himself. The singer is constantly surrounded by unified allegiances that are bound by blood: Bryce and Aaron on one side, and the band’s rhythm section, Bryan and Scott Devendorf, on the other. Together they make music that can sound disjointed and anxious, but it always seems to resolve into a grander, statelier kind of grace. “Aaron and I fight a lot too, but we do it behind closed doors,” Bryce explains. “We like to present a unified point of view.”

Aaron and Bryce Dessner

While Bryce and Aaron are so similar in appearance and demeanor that they feel compelled to announce their names into my recorder before answering questions, the Devendorfs are easily distinguishable: Bryan, the drummer, has long hair, dark sunglasses, and a general Jerry Garcia chill, while Scott, the bassist, is more cheerful and open. (He’s also bald.)

All five members grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, where they mostly hung around the same music scene. After forming the National and moving to Brooklyn around the turn of the century, they put their interpersonal relationships to the test during arduous studio sessions and endless tours. The Devendorf brothers note that they play a key role in the latter category.

“We’re the drivers,” Bryan says, pointing out how this long-held role gives them the right to play whatever they want on the long rides—Steely Dan, the Dead—no matter how much it might piss off Berninger. (For this familial-minded interview, I only spoke with the brothers in the band, so Berninger was not able to defend himself.)

As much as in-fighting is a part of the National’s story—just watch their drama-filled documentary Mistaken for Strangers, a film, coincidentally, directed by Berninger’s brother—they maintain a tightknit, loving attitude. “It’s probably why we’re still doing this,” Aaron says. “Every experience we have has a deeper meaning, because it’s family. The chemistry of the band comes from that.”

Both sets of siblings speak with a sense of ease and comfortability about their history, not taking their longevity for granted. “We’re a band of brothers,” Bryce explains, and that sense of familial spirit is what keeps them moving forward, as opposed to driving them apart. It’s hard to imagine any dramatic ending to the National: If they did implode, they know they would probably still have to face each other at Thanksgiving dinner. But nearly two decades into their career, they’ve come to peace with their dynamic—more understanding, more empathetic. Or, as Bryan puts it, “We’re the anti-Oasis.”

Pitchfork: Aaron and Bryce, when did you start collaborating?

Aaron Dessner: When we were 12, our first great collaboration was collecting baseball cards. We accumulated a pretty significant collection—this was when baseball cards still meant something, before the internet. Then, one day, we went and traded all our baseball cards for a guitar and a bass. I played the bass, and Bryce played guitar. We started to write songs then, and Bryan [Devendorf] would come over and jam. Our older sister was a senior in high school at the time, and she was dating older guys who were in bands in town.

Bryce Dessner:Then she went up to college, and her boyfriend was still the drummer of a band at home. He was kind of sad, so he would come and teach us fIREHOSE and Minutemen songs; we were still ninth graders, but we basically learned a whole album of post-punk songs. We would also play Neil Young in the backyard with Bryan. We had no ambition about being a successful rock band or having a career in music. It was just fun. There was nothing to do. Our friends were getting stoned and hanging out at keg parties, and we were just playing music in the basement.

Aaron Dessner: It was basically a way to be in high school and not have to talk to people at the parties, because you’d just be playing in the corner. At some point, we started to take these different paths, where I got really interested in songwriting, and Bryce was going deeper into composition and classical guitar. That started to form the basis of the National.

Bryan and Scott, what instruments did you start on?

Bryan Devendorf: Our parents gave us violins when we were really young, and we were a duo of sorts, playing parties and Christmas events and church shit. As teenagers, we also played in the handbell choir, where you stand around a table in gloves and ring bells. It was really cool then. We traveled to Nashville and South Bend, Indiana with that choir.

Scott Devendorf: “Get the handbells in the van!”

Bryan Devendorf: This lady named Diane, who was a total hypochondriac, was the driver on those trips. She wore a neck brace at all times.

Bryan and Scott Devendorf

How have your familial relationships helped the band evolve?

Aaron Dessner: The two sets of brothers has been a key ingredient in keeping us together. Over the last 18 years, everyone has had their moment, whether it’s inter-band conflict, or someone melting down. That’s when the family thing really kicks in. You look after each other, probably in a different way than most bands.

Also, when we’re traveling, I’ll wake up and my brother’s always around. I’m like, “Wanna go to that museum?” or, “Wanna go for a run?” It’s just a continuation of what we’ve always known.

Bryan Devendorf: On tour, we just settle into the family dynamic. We rely on that familiarity. It’s dislocating to be away from the families we have on our own, our kids and wives, so we seek that out with each other. Specifically with the siblings. Aaron and Bryce tend to stick together. Scott and I stick together. We all get along and it’s fun, but when you’re out in the world, what the fuck are we gonna do in—name a place—Hamburg, Germany...

Scott Devendorf: ...on a Tuesday!

Bryan Devendorf: You realize how big the world is and how many people there are and how insignificant your own life is when you’re out there. It’s very special to have that dynamic available to us.

Do those connections play into your creative dynamic?

Bryan Devendorf: Aaron and Bryce have a special language they speak to one another, as do Scott and I.

How would you describe Aaron and Bryce’s language?

Scott Devendorf: Telekinesis!

Bryan Devendorf: They have a shorthand. They read each other’s moods really well. It’s distilled to the most essential information. It’s at an almost inaudible level. They speak through their teeth, like ventriloquists.

Scott Devendorf: There’s an inertia in the band. We never had any end goal. It was just fun to make music.

Bryce Dessner: Despite all the family, a band is a very ephemeral thing—this weird constellation of individuals with wives and issues and opinions. Ours is just as fragile as any other. We maybe stick together because of the brotherly thing, but there’s also a question of: Can it last? For us, it’s still as exciting as it was when we made our self-titled album [in 2001]. There are still the nerves around it.

Aaron Dessner: It’s somehow fun to play these sad, dark songs. It becomes cathartic. There’s also a large group of people we’ve been working with for a very long time now, and we collaborate so openly with all kinds of other people and other kinds of music. We think less of the National in big capital letters. It’s part of a community.